


A Part of Life

by temperamental_mistress



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperamental_mistress/pseuds/temperamental_mistress
Summary: The first time someone died in Combeferre's care.





	A Part of Life

It was well past sunset when the door opened. Enjolras was so absorbed in his reading that he nearly missed the quiet click of the latch. He marked his place with a finger and looked up, squinting in the low light of the candle beside him. 

Combeferre had his back turned as he shed his coat, but the slump of his shoulders spoke volumes about how the day had gone. He bent slowly, methodically, to remove his mud-caked boots, as though unsure of his own limbs. He rubbed at his eyes as he straightened, sniffling only once. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking the dampness on his cheeks for rain; Combeferre had been crying. 

Enjolras went to him without a word, wrapping him in a firm embrace. The shorter man stood shocked for a moment before letting the weight fall from his frame. He wept, unashamed. 

“I cannot be a doctor,” he said, once his sobs had quieted. “I cannot do this.”

Enjolras did not speak, but retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into Combeferre’s trembling hand. 

“It was…she was…” Combeferre let his head fall against Enjolras’s shoulder anew, “She died in my arms. She just…faded away to nothing.” The tears had returned in full force, “I cannot bear it. I should never have left the Polytechnic, should never have-”

Enjolras held him close and spoke gently into his rain-soaked hair, “Do you remember what you wrote to me when you left to take up medicine? You wrote of how you had seen the poor suffering, of how little the doctors could do for them. You wanted to change that. And you will, we will.”

“I have saved no one,” came the mumbled response from within the folds of his shirt. 

Enjolras disentangled the weeping man and held him at arms’ length, “You cannot save everyone. Death is a part of life. Remember this woman, remember this pain, but you cannot let one death stop you. Your work has only just begun.”

Combeferre bit his lip and nodded, drying his eyes, “You are right, of course. Forgive me my tears.”

“I will do no such thing,” Enjolras smiled, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It is because you weep for one life, one woman you never knew, that I am so certain you will succeed.”


End file.
